


Have her Happiness

by WhisperingWillows



Category: Don’t Starve
Genre: F/M, Good lord what have I written, Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Tentacle Sex, Vaginal Sex, Willowson - Freeform, because angst, but she doesn’t have much fun at the end, i wanna see more of my girl having fun, wilson’s A controlling jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 22:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18765775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingWillows/pseuds/WhisperingWillows
Summary: Wilson hasn’t been himself since he went beyond the door. The only solace Willow can find now is in her own body.





	Have her Happiness

Air heavy, face hot, cold tendrils coiled around her wrists and holding her to the floor—

Toy, Pet, Willow reminded herself. He kept her here to do whatever he pleased, with punishments that came along if she broke his stupid rules.

That’s how things were after Wilson disappeared behind the door. How many nights had she waited for him to return, growing more desperately lonely with day he spent away from her? The relief when he finally showed his face again…

...and the pain of realizing he wasn’t quite Wilson anymore—

Indescribable.

And everything changed for the worse. She was his queen, but it was a bit of a misnomer. A queen had power, and she didn’t have even an ounce to weigh against the king on his throne. No longer was she allowed outside the biome centered around her camp. He’d hurt her for even a step beyond. Scar her.

Complete isolation. 

He gave her all she needed. Food and flowers and trees to burn, but it felt like an empty gesture when he wouldn’t let her go anywhere.

A cold, slick coil drew itself over her folds, and she gasped, interrupting her train of thought, but not for long.

Pet.

Toy.

Those were the nicknames that came from his own mouth. Most often when he carved new things into her flesh...or when…

He smelled like Wilson, once she could get past that awful cologne he got ahold of somehow. He looked like him, and sounded like him, and tasted like him. 

And that was how she could bear the torment. The only thing reminiscent of his love from before, the way she could lose herself in his touch. That little voice in her head, the first few times, writhed and agonized, how dare you let yourself do this? But she learned to quiet it.

Willow took whatever scraps of happiness she could get nowadays.

When it escalated, Willow was shocked to find it was even easier to detach herself from all the bad...He wouldn’t even be there himself, just employ his own abilities and watch her squirm from the comfort of his throne, and she could close her eyes and pretend without his snarky words and tone taking her out of the illusion.

Held down by shadows, but not her legs (she didn’t like being totally restrained), her chest heaved with every breath. She was only naked from the waist down (she didn’t like being totally exposed), and the summoned up hands and tentacles were having a field day playing with her hips and thighs. Some slipped under blouse to twitch and twist the skin there, but they all refused to touch where she so desperately needed to be touched.

She twitched her hips against the air, hoping they would get the hint, letting her legs drift further apart. “Come on!” Willow called into nothing. “I know you’re watching, don’t think I don’t! And I can...I can put on a show, I can—“

A pair of hands pushed her down by her hips, translucent but least of all dull, clawed fingertips digging in pale flesh. Much softer tendrils drilled along her inner thighs. Willow thought she might cry. She planted her feet in the grass if only to try and rub up against anything teasing her poor body, but the hands kept firm. Their thumbs rubbed little circles where her skin and bone dipped.

The ones under her blouse wiggled just under her ribs, an awfully sweet spot, smaller coils squeezing the little pink nubs of her breasts. Everything was slick with nightmare fuel, but she tried not to think about having to do laundry after all this.

However, the idea of a distraction, even an unpleasant one, was getting to be more and more appealing? Willow felt like she’d burst from all the ceaseless teasing and touching. Their last in-person...encounter ended with what she thought, and now hoped, was a joke. He’d openly wondered if she could finish merely with his affection. Could she? The heat in her belly had grown unbearable, but it’d also stagnated.

She felt like she’d go crazy before she came.

“Please,” Willow pleaded. ‘Pathetic,’ that voice berated. It always came back, but god, she just wanted to feel full inside.

Finally, finally, the tentacle that had taken an interest between her legs an eternity ago returned with renewed interest. She felt the tapered tip poke her entrance, and she realized then just how soaked in her own impatience she was. It shoved in hard and fast. Willow gasped sharply. The nightmare fuel slick and her own natural lubrication left no resistance. She broke and started to cry, less from discomfort and more from relief. 

Any pain melted fast into a molten pleasure. She was almost surprised she didn’t come there and then. Cries drifted into ‘yes’s and pleas. Her eyes shut and all her coherency had found itself stuck on Wilson’s name. Like a broken record.

She only wished he was there to wrap her legs around as she was fucked senseless by the substitute he conjured up. It had no trouble finding that spot inside her that drove her mind in loops. Wilson never had trouble finding it either. He knew her every weakspot.

The hands caressing her body clawed wherever they got a good reaction. Three more seemed to sprout from nowhere, the first two prying her legs as far apart as they’d comfortably go, as though it’d help their friend at her center fit in better. She wondered if she might be consumed in the shadows...

But oh, who cared, she was so, so close, a few more jabs at the sweet spot inside—

Her back arched, breath erratic and jaw hung in a silent scream. Her walls spasmed against the tentacle still driving away inside, but it didn’t stop.

Willow started to sob through her own hypersensitivity before it gave way to another knot. The last hand that had been idling off to the side wrapped its shadowy base around her midsection, it’s ring and index fingers parting slick folds as its middle rubbed slow but firm against her clit. What she wouldn’t give to rut herself against all the attention, to meet the tendril inside halfway and thrust her hips with it.

Again, close, and—

The shadows, all of them, suddenly gone, leaving a teary eyed Willow on the ground on the blissful edge of another orgasm. She didn’t care about how humiliated she might be later, she cried from the sudden lack of attention.

Only to be silenced. Wilson, hands at her sides, mouth on hers...he’d taken the place of the minions who had endeared themselves to her body.

“I really tried to let you have your fun,” he whispered, “but you’re just so painfully tempting.” He kissed her again and again, until Willow thought she might get drunk off him. One of his own clawed hands kept her pinned against him, the other rubbing eagerly at her wet slit. She was still so slippery from just moments ago, and in the middle of another kiss, Willow noticed he was slicking himself up.

“You belong to me,” he cooed in a tone that almost made her forget the control he exerted over her even now. She was pinned against the grass again, those legs finding someone to wrap themselves around.

He really did know just how to push her buttons. “You belong…” Wilson pushed inside without resistance. “To me.”

And the feeling of unease at his tone nearly took her out of it. It wasn’t until he’d found her g-spot again that Willow could drown the badness back out.

‘Let yourself feel good…for as long as this lasts...for as long as he’s not warning you back into your pen…’

It took hardly any time to bring her back to the edge, and she came harder than the last time, riding it out by grinding against him. He never finished. Could he even do so? He seemed to derive enough pleasure just watching and listening to her.

He was gone as soon as he arrived. He hadn’t even bothered to pull out, she was just empty all of a sudden. Willow felt empty in a lot of ways, actually.

It was over. The voice returned with the crawling sense of shame settling in her chest. It always showed its ugly head after these times.

Willow dressed back up and crawled under the covers in her tent. She had her happiness, her temporary joy, and now it was back to the dreariness between those periods.

He certainly tired her out. A good nap would resolve at least some of the sadness, right? Her eyes closed, she drifted off.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in the span of two hours when I shouldn’t be awake it’s really just a self indulgent mess.


End file.
